Confusing Illusions I've Seen
by agent iz hyper
Summary: "Hangin' on by the last threads of our hope, in a house of mirrors full of smoke." / Hell takes a different toll on each brother. But in the end, they cope and break all the same.


**Confusing Illusions I've Seen**

**Disclaimer:** Song lyrics used are from 'Farther Along' by Josh Garrels. Heard it on a Supernatural music video and fell in love. xD Deep, deep meaningful shit.

* * *

_Where did I go wrong, I sang along_  
_To every chorus of the song_  
_That the devil wrote like a piper at the gates_  
_Leading mice and men down to their fates_

_But some will courageously escape  
The seductive voice with a heart of faith  
While walkin' that line back home._

…

"How I feel, this... inside me - I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing." – _Dean Winchester._

**-x-**

He was managing fine, until the memories returned.

Yeah, his sleep was disturbed by unseeable horrors and there were times when the dark seemed to be too confining (shadowing closing in _trapping_ _him_) and maybe he slept deeper and zoned out a bit more.

But he was good.

On the Hell front, at least; because what was going on with his brother was more than enough for him to focus on. He didn't _need_ something else. _Especially_ not memories of his time way done under.

Not now.

But even so, he'd coped well enough. (If you could call it _coping_ and maybe he _wasn't_ dealing with things the way he should be but _screw that_, it was his life his memories his, his _death his deal_).

He was bound to break, though. Was counting down the days since, since he'd _remembered_. Since that ghost sickness and the dogs and Lilith and, and crap _it was forty years_.

He was bound to break…

And break he did.

Dean Winchester keep something this big locked up and _not_ spill to his brother? Yeah, right. (The brother he was supposed to protect; the brother he went to Hell for; the brother he _couldn't keep shit from_ and it was Dad's last words all over again only it wasn't _save Sam or kill him_ this time, it was _stop Sam or we will_ and dammit, _damn it all_ but he _broke_).

It was like a dam wall. Once there was a slight crack there, the water started trickling out… more and more until it was streaming, _gushing_, and he couldn't stop it _didn't know how_.

He let it out.

What he'd suffered.

What he'd _done_.

...What he'd felt.

And he wished, _God he wished_ he could _stop_ because he didn't _want_ Sammy to know, didn't want to drop the game-face he lived behind… but he couldn't.

So he didn't.

**-x-**

_So much more to life than we've been told_  
_It's full of beauty that will unfold_  
_And shine like you struck gold my wayward son_  
_That deadweight burden weighs a ton_

_Go down into the river and let it run_  
_And wash away all the things you've done_  
_Forgiveness alright._

…

"I was pretty far gone myself sometimes, but you never gave up on me." – _Sam Winchester_

**-x-**

He wasn't coping well, since the Wall broke.

Sure, he didn't _look_ like he was barely inches away from _stark-raving-mad_ but he hid it well and learned to _pretend_ it was okay, _he_ was okay, until he almost believed it himself.

But he wasn't.

He couldn't afford to dwell on it though because what his brother was going through was _so much more important_. He wanted to help and not be a _burden_ and he _couldn't afford_ having to deal with, with the Devil in his head.

Not now.

But he tried to make it work. He _made_ it work, for a while at least. (If you could even count it as successful when the only way to anchor himself without _alerting_ anyone was pressing a slowly-healing painful wound. Over and over and over again until he wondered whether he'd become resistant to the pain).

What he didn't count on was having to eventually acknowledge that part of his mind, that was crazy and _stuck_ and _crap but he wasn't real_.

He was bound to let him in…

And he did.

Sam Winchester be strong enough to keep away something this big and not have his brother find out? Yeah, right. (The brother he was supposed to help; the brother who'd brought his soul _back_ and had the faith to _keep him there_; the brother he couldn't keep hiding this from and he _knew_ Dean noticed even if his mind wasn't always there, and it was the demon blood and secrets all over again, lying to _protect_ him and dammit, _damn it all_ but he _couldn't_).

His Wall had shattered and he was its' remains. The ruins it left were playing trick after vicious trick on his mind, breaking him and he couldn't stop it _didn't know how_.

He caved in.

Let Lucifer run free.

...Because what else could he do?

And he wished, _God he wished_ he could _stop it_ because he never _wanted_ Dean to find out like this, never wanted to be another burden his brother had to carry and save and fix, didn't want to let go the façade he'd carefully constructed to _hide it all_… but he couldn't.

So he didn't.

* * *

**A/N :-** *takes a breath* I... *lets it out* I don't know. I don't know where this came from or what it is, but I wanted to write about how _different_ each brother's reactions to their trips to Hell were... but how, really, they weren't different at all. *blinks* If that made sense.

I blame the psychologist-wannabe part of my mind. xP

Nah, seriously though; Sam and Dean may have coped with their hell memories in different ways, but what I'm getting at is that they weren't all that different at the end. And it's not possible to say that either of them dealt _better_, because _they're_ both different. Sam's got a strong enough will-power to keep freaking _Lucifer_ at bay, but once he let him in once, that was it. He couldn't really block him out again. Dean, on the other hand... well, I think that with Deano it was more of a 'shove it out of the way and don't acknowledge it' kind of coping mechanism. He definitely had enough to think about and deal with, with Sammy's whole demon thing going on. And while I do think he was broken, it wasn't... I don't know, it hadn't gotten to all of him. He was able to channel it into anger, at least, when facing those dickhead angels and crap.

...*crickets chirp* 'kay, I'm gunna, uh, stop being deep and analysing shit now... heh. (-note to dodo- *glares warningly* don't. say anything.)

Um, right. Long AN's are a problem of mine. xP Let me know your thoughts on the issue? How do _you_ think their coping mechanisms (or, well, whatever you wanna call... whatever it is they _did__) _worked/differ?

~iz.


End file.
